


Evidence

by Babukoan



Series: Falling Slowly [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fem!Steve, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babukoan/pseuds/Babukoan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part One of the Falling Slowly Series, depicting the evolution of the relationship between Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, and Stephanie Rogers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was so obvious Steph should have realized long before now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evidence

Evidence

Steph pummeled the swinging bag in front of her with increasing ferocity. Each blow landed with unerring precision. If she could just erase the past hour from her mind; if she could just replace the pink tinge of embarrassment with the sweaty rogue of exertion; if she could just work her heart fast enough, it couldn’t stop to hurt.

The chain holding the bag creaked ominously as she threw a flurry of punches in rapid succession. Why the hell was she so surprised? It wasn’t like there weren’t signs. It wasn’t as if they were subtle. Miss Potts had stopped coming for their bimonthly movie night about eight months ago. Steph didn’t have to avoid tripping over pairs of high heels on her way through the penthouse anymore. The pink coffee mug with the black polka dots disappeared about the time Tony’s smile dimmed.

Her knuckles began to sting. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she went to striking with knees and elbows. It was fairly obvious when Pepper left. Tony drank more. He was reckless and insubordinate in the field. Steph exhaled sharply through her nose. They had never come so close to blows before.

********** 

          Steph flew through the elevator, cowl pulled down and gloves off. The skin under her ear and eye was still red from a rapidly healing burn. She stomped across the white carpet, unmindful of the sooty, bloody footprints left in her wake.

          “What the fuck was that?!” she growled.

          The slumped figure behind the bar straightened enough to spare her a sneer and refill his glass. “Well, well, well, it seems Miss America does know how to swear.” He lifted a hand to his lips, feigning shock. “Thank the stars your mother isn’t around to know what a naughty girl you’ve become.”

          The bar cracked when she brought her fist down. “She _knew_ I would never leave one of my teammates in the lurch, Stark.”

          Tony stumbled back slightly. Whatever shock present on his face was quickly replaced by cool indifference. “Look princess, whatever seventy years of back pay amounts to won’t even begin to cover the cost of the repairs. So please, continue destroying my house.” He waved around haphazardly. “I think there are still a few walls _you_ lot haven’t put holes in.”

          The cold venom in those last words slapped her across the face. She stepped back to stare dumbfounded. The anger and adrenaline finally cleared just enough for her to really see the man before her. Months of proximity, arguments, impromptu culture lessons, and battles had taught her to look for the man behind the mask, iron and otherwise. Dark circles hidden under an open cut and a blossoming bruise belied days without sleep. Brown strands were caked with grease. He had been wearing the same torn-up jeans and ragged shirt for at least a week now. The pungent odor of sweat and alcohol mingled sickeningly with the metallic tang of drying blood.

          “Tony,” she whispered softly. “What the -”

          “I made a judgment call in the field, Capsicle. Don’t get your panties in a twist. Sometimes your pretty little head can’t put together all the pieces when the puzzle spans several city blocks.” He barreled on, unheeding of her change in demeanor.

          She tried again. “Whatever’s going on….”  
  
          Tony came around the bar and invaded her personal space. “You’re what? Twenty-six? Woke up less than a year ago from a war where they still used the cavalry. It is understandably hard to command in this fast-paced century.”

          Steph’s eyes narrowed, her anger flaring once again. She grabbed the tumbler from his hands before any more amber liquid could pass his lips. He certainly had a penchant for pulling her back down into the fire of the fight. “Widow and Thor had the platform covered. They were going to get to the control panel and shut that down. You left Clint high and dry. He got ambushed. If Hulk hadn’t caught him when his cable broke…” She turned her back on him to push the tumbler down the bar. “You’re benched, Stark. Until you get your shit together, I don’t want to see you at team drills or Iron Man out on any calls.” When she faced him again, his handsome features were distorted with rage.

          “You have no fucking right to tell Iron Man what to do, Cap. You can take your spangley outfit and giant Frisbee and shove them up your ass.” He crowded closer, pressing her back into the bar.

          She stood her ground, spine straight and fists clenched at her sides. “I am the team leader, Stark. I don’t take risks with my team – any of them. It is my responsibility to see that we all come home in one piece at the end of the day. So take time. Get your head back on straight. You are out until I deem you aren’t a risk to us or yourself.” Her voice was steel, but she hoped a soft hand on his shoulder would convey the sincerity of her concern.

          He growled, brushing her off. “I put the mission first. I save the day and _I_ get benched?” He spat the last word, his face an inch from hers.

  
          “It was being handled.”

          “So who the hell benched the great Captain America when she let her best friend fall from a moving train so she could finish her mission? No Hulk around to catch Bucky was there, Stephanie?”

          Whatever concern for a man she considered so much more than a teammate slipped away and she had Stark thrown against the bar before he could fathom his next cruel taunt. Large bloodshot eyes stared up at her in complete shock. Before her fist could wipe the growing smirk off that smug face, the elevator doors slid open.

          “Captain,” Bruce called, as calm and friendly as ever. It was as if she wasn’t about to pulverize their good friend’s face. The serenity that hangs about him after waking up from Hulking about Manhattan surprises her to this day. He placed a hand on her shoulder, easily pulling them apart.

          Tony’s lips quirked, but before he could say anything, Bruce had a good hold of his face. He leaned in close, carefully examining the wounds found there. “I think I can take it from here. If you need to go debrief or want to check on Agent Barton…” And before Steph can even finish seething, Tony was lead away to his bedroom by a gentle hand on the small of his back.

*********** 

          A brutal punch combo and a severe side kick later the bag was vanquished at her feet. Her chest heaved. Furiously she blinked what she hoped was sweat from her eyes. She should have seen then, when Tony’s anger and rage deflated under Bruce’s gentle touch. In the following weeks, they were more inseparable than ever. Whatever hole Tony fell into, Bruce pulled him out. He cleaned up and was back to his sometimes drunken, overworked, cocky self in a matter of weeks. She thought they were just friends, but those shared looks and furtive smiles seem so obvious now. It shouldn’t have felt like a punch to the gut when Bruce handed Tony a cup of coffee this morning and was rewarded with a sleepy, lengthy kiss. A pure display of affection shouldn’t splinter all of her girlish dreams. She shook her head aggressively. Maybe those flights of fancy were too foolish to hold onto in the first place.

          Steph looked down at her hands. The wraps were bloodied and dripping. How long had she been down here? She stumbled back until she could slump against the wall. Why didn’t she see the truth laid right before her eyes? They loved each other, not her. Walks though Central Park at night, listening to Bruce describe the intricacies of South American cuisine; sitting in the lab as Tony babbled cheerily about the benefits of her new Facebook account and why Pandora was perfect for her old-timey tastes in musical entertainment; firm hands on her hips, guiding her through the Warrior III pose; it all meant nothing. She stared at the yoga mats stacked across the room and choked back a sob.

          She tried not to remember the warmth that flowed through her as calloused, grease-stained hands brushed her cheek. She tried to forget how safe it felt to have Bruce rest his hand on the small of _her_ back, holding her close after a lengthy fight. He had carefully tended to each cut and scrap, even though they were transient at worst. Another sob bubbled up as she tore the wrappings from her hands. Captain America, tactical genius. How could she be such an idiot? Neither of them loved her. She rested her head against the wall. As her tears began to slow, their salty tracks left her cheeks feeling tight and dry.

How could they when they evidently had each other?

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first story I've written in a while. Comments and suggestions are always welcome.


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